In the Fire of the Sun
by alena
Summary: Imprisoned in the Noldorin city, Eöl finally learns the truth about Aredhel.
1. Day

_Disclaimer:_ Professor J. R. R. Tolkien made and marred Arda. He made the bright sunlight of Gondolin and the enchanted shadows of Nan Elmoth. He made the Noldor and the Sindar.

_Note:_ Inspired in large part by Ithilwen's beautiful and terrible _Noldorlantë._  
Eöl and Aredhel's relationship is difficult to read, and mine is only one of many possible interpretations, and only one part of the story. Since Eöl is depicted in this fic as a somewhat disturbed person, it would probably be best not to take his words completely at face value.  
Great thanks to Nemis and Ithilwen for beta-reading!

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In the Fire of the Sun**

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Chapter 1. Day

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The javelin's tip was poisoned.

A simple sentence, a simple thing to say. The javelin's tip was poisoned. I repeat it in my mind, turn over the words. The javelin that pierced your shoulder, striking you to the ground. Poisoned. I hear myself say it in my own head, again and again. All I need is to say it out aloud, call the guards, speak it: "The javelin's tip was poisoned." And you will live, you will see the sun rise tomorrow, you will win.

If you loved me, you would not have betrayed me.

White sunlight streams into the room from the single window high up in the wall, pooling onto the floor, forming a bright patch, framed by deep shadows. It lengthens slowly, inexorably, creeping ever eastwards, steadily, marking off the lines between the paving stones, one by one. Each inch of its movement brings you an inch closer to death.

The reflected glare from the white stones stings my eyes. Poisoned.

No. I will not speak. I will be silent. I cannot speak. All this must end: my love, my hate, my enchantment, my imprisonment. Everything. End. No More. And the only way I can end it, my Aredhel, is to kill you.

I thought I could at least deny you your pity. I thought I could at least deny you my son. At least die like a warrior in this accursed city. But you thwarted me, even my last attempt. As you have always done.

So now I sit here in this bare room, this cell, in a high tower of stone, your captive once more. Yet not entirely defeated, for the poison courses through your veins. You have saved our ungrateful child, but I no longer begrudge you this, for it is better this way, it is no longer he who matters. Oh Aredhel, my love, my life, my Noldorin bride, now I see it is you that I must kill. It is you. It has always been you. From the very beginning you. Forever and inescapably you.

Do you love me, Aredhel? If you do not, then why did you come to Nan Elmoth? Why did you come to me? If you do, then why did you scorn me and leave me? Why did you do this to me? How could you do this to me?

No, do not answer. Of course you would do this to me. You would betray me without a backward glance, because it is in your blood, it is what you are. You would kill me with no regrets at all, because it is what you did, you and your kin, at Alqualondë, at so many other places. And I knew. I have always known. That you were restless and ruthless, that this was the way of your people. I have always known. That nothing could hold you long, that you would leave me one day, and nothing I did to prevent it would be of any use at all. And I have always known that you distilled poison into our son's ears, drop by drop, tale by tale, making glory out of bloodshed, valour out of unjust pride. You found those ears ready and willing, for he is heartless, he takes after the Noldor, after you. Do not think that I did not know. Do not think that I did not hear all your words to him, for I heard you. I was hidden in the shadow of the moon, in the depth of the forest , where your cruel white blaze could not reach. I heard you.

Oh Aredhel, I should have killed you then, so that you would never leave.

The fiery sun in this stony place burns me. The javelin's tip. Poisoned. Like you poisoned our son. If I speak, then you will live. If I do not, then you will die, and so will I. The patch of light on the floor lengthens another inch.

Do you love me, Aredhel? If you love me, then why did you ruthlessly snatch away my world of stars, replacing it with your pale fire, and your deep black shadows? Why did you not let me be? Why did you invade my land, ensnare me in my own forest? I remember the first night you spent in Nan Elmoth, that moonless night. You slept exhausted in a clearing in the woods, bathed in starlight, for you could not find the way out. And I stole into the glade and looked upon you, drawn like a moth to your silvery flame. You were shivering a little in your dreams, in the breeze; the edge of your white dress fluttered. I should have killed you then, so that I could be free, but under the stars you looked almost innocent.

Even now I am still so weak as to turn these words over in my mind, imagining myself speaking them to the guards, to your brother. The javelin's tip was poisoned. But I will say nothing. I will be silent.

They say that I ensnared and seduced you, but the truth is the other way around, just the opposite. It was you who seduced me. It was you who never let me go. It was you. It has always been you. From the first moment you. Hopelessly you. Even now, you have pulled me along helplessly in your wake, uprooting me from my forest, into your city of stone. Where I sit in a cell staring at a square of white light on the ground, and hear a single sentence repeated over and over again in my head. The javelin's tip was poisoned. The javelin's tip was poisoned. I will be silent.

If you do not love me, then why did you come to Middle-earth? Why did you return my embrace in the enchanted woods? In those woods we were first joined, husband and wife, in the midst of a raging thunderstorm, in the flailing rain. You put your arms around me, pulling me down. Oh Aredhel, I should have killed you then, so that I would possess you forever. But all I could see was the lightning reflected in your eyes.

The light in the room softens, turning from white to gold. The patch of sun on the floor lengthens. Each inch eastward is an inch closer to death. Each moment I spend in silence is a moment closer to death. Poisoned. The javelin's tip. I know this, for mine were the hands that steeped it in poison.

For in our embraces I have felt your passion meeting mine, engulfing me in flames, setting me ablaze. How could you not love me? How could you love me? I have felt your pride and your scorn lashing me like firebrands every day. Every day you struggled against me, against everything I wished to give you, everything I have! I am your husband, Aredhel! But I see now, oh I do see, I understand now. Your passion and your pride: they are one and the same. What you are. Passionate. Proud. Pitiless. In your blood. That is why you came over the Ice to Middle-earth, to me and away from me. That is why you betrayed your kin and mine by the shores of Alqualondë. That is why you betrayed _me_.

Oh my beautiful Aredhel, I should have killed you the first moment I laid eyes upon you, to avenge my people.

The room darkens, twilight has come. Only a last reflected sliver of light remains on the eastern wall, its fire now dim. Do you love me, Aredhel?

And I will never learn the answer, because the javelin's tip was poisoned. But the light no longer hurts my eyes. Despite everything, I have made it end. You will never betray me again. For you see, Aredhel, my love, my wife and enemy, slayer of my kin, here in your city of stone, in your prison, I have finally found the strength to triumph over you.


	2. Night

_Disclaimer:_ All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.

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In the Fire of the Sun  
  
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Chapter 2. Night

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I see you lying on the bed, your face drawn, eyes tightly shut. A rich coverlet is pulled over your chest; its deep russet hue makes you seem even paler. Your shoulder wound has been dressed and bound, skilfully but to no avail, for you are dying of the poison.

I see you in a vision or dream, myself unseen, a silent and disembodied spirit hovering above you. Above your deathbed. I see your black hair spilling over the pillows, spilling over the edge of the bed. Each one of your breaths comes laboured and slow, ragged with pain. Do you feel me, Aredhel?

If you love me, you will have sensed my presence.

Our son is kneeling by the bed, motionless, his dark head bowed, holding one of your hands in his. The scent of herbs fills the room. To no avail. The only light comes from scattered candles at the other end of the room, muted and flickering. Your light, too, is dimmed, flickering, about to be extinguished. It no longer blinds me, as I gaze down upon you.

So I have killed you, at long last. I have finally gained possession of you, gained a victory over you, for you will never hurt me or leave me again. You will never turn from me again, never be restless again, never betray me again.

Yet though my own hands were the ones that steeped the javelin in poison, it comes as a shock to me, to see you like this: surrounded by shadows, clouded by torments. Vanquished and dying. I never imagined that such a thing could be possible.

Oh Aredhel, if you love me you would have stayed by my side.

This is my victory over you. I have finally killed you, avenging my people and myself. It will end now. Never again. Yet I feel not nearly enough exultation, far too little triumph. Even while dying, you pull me irresistably, a shimmering pale flame, about to go out. Even now, I am so weak that I only wish to embrace you in my arms.

You are so beautiful even while dying, my Aredhel.

This is my victory over you.

A healer comes silently to the bedside, touching your forehead, taking your other hand for the pulse. It is not of much use now.

"I do not understand..." Our son's voice, forlorn and fearful. He is looking up now. Though he is treacherous and a fool, unworthy of me, I feel a slight twinge of pity for him. "It was only a little while ago that...it was only a flesh wound..."

"The javelin's tip was poisoned. We learned of it too late."

"You said that she would heal!"

My son's voice fills with panic. No, Aredhel, you will not heal. It is too late for that. _Never again._

The door opens, and your brother enters, his yellow-haired daughter slipping in quietly after him. You stir a little on the bed, your breath catching. How is it, oh Aredhel my own wife, that you sense his presence but not mine?

Your Noldorin niece turns to Maeglin beside the bed, and touches him on the arm, barely. At that touch my son breaks into tears. In addition to being heartless he is weak as well, accepting the enemy's pity. Your brother reaches for your pale hand, lifts it slowly, bends his lips to it. I take some bitter satisfaction in his anguish.

With an effort you open your eyes, but those once so brilliant eyes see nothing, they are unfocused now, dark with pain, the pupils already dilated. You turn you head, very slighly, almost imperceptably, in Maeglin's direction.

"He shall be as a son to me, and as a brother to Idril," your brother answers, voice low, trying to reassure. "Have no fear, dearest little sister, try to become well..."

No! He is _my_ son, and he shall not abide here in the city of my enemy! Even while dying, you wish to estrange my son, to take me from him! Not this place, not the murderers of my kin, never! He is _my_ son!

Heedless of my voiceless cries, you close your eyes once more in relief, sinking back. A long moment passes, all is silent, except for the faint sound of your laboured breathing. "Brother..." finally you whisper, nearly inaudibly.

Again, though mine were the hands that brought this to pass, it comes as a shock to hear your voice. How much has it changed, in so short a time! Hoarse and constricted, each syllable is barely squeezed out, and you struggle in agony. "Brother..." you whisper, "my husband..."

"He will not escape justice," his voice is harsh now. "You will be avenged, for everything, everything that he did to you, everything that you endured from him."

Everything that you endured from me! Oh Aredhel, even while dying, you would be injust! You are the one who stole my stars, usurped my forest, my Middle-earth. You are the one who seduced me and ensnared me. You are the one who never let me go, Aredhel!

"No...my husband...do not harm him..."

My heart stops.

He is silent.

"It was not...he did not...promise me, do not harm him..."

Oh Aredhel, why? Can it be that you wish to imprison me here forever? Can it be that you wish to deny me even my death? Can it be that you love me?

Your brother is silent. He says nothing.

"Promise me!" Suddenly your eyes fly open, in this instant dimmed no longer, clouded no longer, but feverishly bright, fierce, more brilliant than ever, looking straight at me, through me, piercing me, transfixing me. Then with a terrible heaving gasp, you fall away from me. The room spins. I hear Maeglin cry out, see the healers rush forward, see your brother held back by his daughter. The room spins about me, dissolving--

You love me, Aredhel! You do love me after all! You love me!


	3. Morning

_Disclaimer:_ All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.

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**In the Fire of the Sun**

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Chapter 3. Morning

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"You knew. You knew from the beginning."

Yes. I knew. From the beginning. I have always known.

"You knew, all this time, that the javelin's tip was poisoned. And you said nothing. You murdered her," he growls low through gritted teeth, trembling with fury, his eyes stormy with hatred. "Murderer. You murdered her."

I meet your brother's eyes. He calls me a murderer! What can he possibly understand? And of course there is no need to explain, no need for him to understand. 

"So you now know how it feels, to see your kin die at another Elf's hands?" I ask simply.

His eyes go cold, and he takes a step back. Despite my aching heart, despite everything, I find myself smiling, just a little, as my taunt strikes its mark. So I can still be defiant. It is not much, my defiance, but it is the only thing left to me now.

The only thing except you, Aredhel.

You love me. You torture me.

Is this my triumph, then, or have I finally lost? I do not know, it is no longer possible to know. I have killed a high and proud princess of the Noldor, in vengeance, in defense of my world and my being. I have killed you, who love me. Is this victory or defeat? I am condemned; your brother believes it is justice for you, but the truth is not so, just the opposite. No, not justice, for I acknowledge not your justice; I care nothing for your laws. I feel only rage in this city of stone; before your brother I am still unbowed. I am condemned, not by him but by you. You. Everywhere and forever you. Even in death you. A foregone conclusion from the first moment I laid eyes upon you. Is this victory? Is this defeat?

Dawn is coming, putting the stars to flight, turning the eastern sky silvery white, dyeing it red with blood. With the new day comes new pain, for I feel you in its light. I feel your presence about me like a liquid fire; I feel your eyes burning me, I hear your voice crying to me. Are you here, Aredhel? Why do you linger here beside me, why do you remain now, when you refused to remain beside me before? Is it to torment me or to comfort me? Or am I only imagining you here with me? Is it because you love me?

Oh you love me, Aredhel. You love me enough to plead for me at your own death, enough to bear my child in the starlit woods. Enough to condemn me. Enough to turn my victory to ashes, if I indeed ever had any victory at all. Oh Aredhel, why? Why did you not love me enough to abide by me?

You love me. You torture me with your love. Even in death you do not let me go. No, we are husband and wife, after all, bound for all eternity. Hating you does not change it; killing you does not change it. You will never let me go.

The sun is rising. The Noldorin city shines bright, its spires glittering like edges of swords. My son stands in the early light, beside your brother, already acknowledging him as king. In his heartlessness he takes after you. Does he not feel your presence? Flanked by guards, I begin my walk up the mountainside. My son follows us without a word.

"Cousin Maeglin?" A voice calls out, troubled and questioning. It is your brother's daughter.

My son stops, turning to her. "I will see my mother avenged," he replies, his voice cold and expressionless, but his face betrays a flash of emotion as his eyes meet hers. My faithless child is also weak, seduced at a glance by a daughter of the Noldor. In this weakness he takes after me. Does he not see that this is the city of the enemy? Does he not see my example before him?

She stands for a moment, hesitating, then runs to catch up with us. To the mountains, then, to the sheer walls of the city. You are with me now, tearing at me, embracing me, leading me to the high rocky cliffs. Are you here to see yourself avenged, Aredhel? Are you here to catch me as I fall? Are you here only in my imagination? Are you here to take my soul onwards, beyond?

The sun rises over the distant mountain peaks, illuminating the black cliffs, setting the city aflame. My son stands in silence. Yet I see now, I believe that he will avenge me, however unwillingly, treachrously.

"So you forsake your father and his kin, ill-gotten son! Here shall you fail of all your hopes, and here may you yet die the same death as I!"

He is silent, saying nothing. So all I have left now is you, my Aredhel, your torment and your love. Yet my voice is strong and proud, fearing no death. Have I lost? Have I won?

Am I utterly vanquished, or have I gained something of a victory, in the midst of my defeat? Does it matter? For you are my wife, after all. Bound for eternity. Even now you are with me. And you love me. You love me. All your brother's armies cannot change it. All your Lords of the West cannot change it. Your death and mine cannot change it. I will never let you go.

I stand at the edge of the precipice, the abyss beneath me, your voice all about me, the new sun before me. It rises blinding and white, cruel as knives, radiant as you.

For the first time in my life, I look defiantly and directly into the sun.

For the first time in my life, I find it beautiful.

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_The End_


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